


Nightlight

by WaitingForMy



Series: Imaginary Friend [9]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20731031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: With all the things It could control, It could not control the weather. It was helpless against the storm, helpless to soothe you.Not helpless against the dark. Never helpless against dark, for underneath the garish façade of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, It was light.





	Nightlight

**Author's Note:**

> Uh...guess who’s back? LOL. It’s been killing me to stay away, but I forced myself to enjoy hiatus while I could, knowing Chapter Two was coming. I saw the very first showing I could, loved it, but couldn’t bring myself to return to you all without an offering, so here it is!
> 
> *Pennywise voice* IiIi mIiIissed yOoUu

The fear of storms had never been one of Its favorites. With all the things It could control, It could not control the weather, and It didn’t like to wait. Only a human handful of times throughout Its cast, eternal life, It got lucky and happened upon a child who feared storms at just the right time. Those were desperate times, starving times.

In addition to being inconvenient, the fear of storms simply didn’t taste as good as others. It tasted musty, electric, and a little like sulfur—not  _ bad _ , but never Its first choice. It far preferred the tangy aftertaste of the fear of strangers, or the warm, soupy texture of nyctophobia. Of course, nothing compared to the airy, sugary flavor of good old coulrophobia. What would It say? It had a sweet tooth.

All this made it easier, even with the ever-tantalizing scent of your fear driving Its senses wild, to resist the urge to eviscerate you as you curled your tiny body into Pennywise’s chest, gripping his costume in your fists with surprising strength. You buried your face in the frill around his neck as lighting struck and thunder cracked outside your bedroom window. He rocked you, as he had seen human parents do with their children, slowly and evenly, humming a simple tune. He wasn’t sure how that was supposed to help, but as the minutes ticked on, he even found himself becoming relaxed by the rhythmic motion.

A bolt of lightning hit the ground somewhere close, and the accompanying thunder roared, vibrating the walls of the house. You shrieked and pressed yourself even harder into your strange friend. He shushed you. He wished, not for the first time, that he could control the weather—not to conjure a storm to strike fear into his prey, but to clear it away and soothe his little girl. He grimaced. What had he became? What had you  _ made  _ him?

The nightlight flickered and went out, and you whimpered miserably. The stench of fear flooded Pennywise’s senses. He shuddered.

A pull deep in his gut urged him to give in. He hadn’t had a kill in a couple weeks. That was your fault. He’d been spending time with you instead of hunting, surviving, doing what he was meant to do. You were a distraction. He needed to get rid of you, but every time your big, round eyes gazed up at him, he was helpless—helpless against you, helpless against the storm, helpless to soothe you.

Not helpless against the dark. Never helpless against dark, for underneath the garish façade of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, It was light.

Maybe, he wasn’t so helpless to soothe you, after all.

All it took was a tiny shift—moving his deadlights from his core to his fingers. They glowed dimly through his skin and gloves. It wouldn’t be enough to stun you, but it might hypnotize you just a little. At least, that’s what he hoped. He had never stunned such a young child, before. He’d never had to.

“Don’t worry, [YN],” he cooed, casting the glow of the deadlights across your face. “Pennywise will be your nightlight.”

Your eyes went wide and glazed over, staring at his hand. “How are you doing that?” Your words had already begun to slur together into one.

“Magic.”

He laid you down on your pillow. Your gaze never strayed from the light until he reached up to your face and brushed his fingers down, closing your eyes for you.

“Sleep,” he said, and you did.

* * *

That night, you dreamed of fire and blood and rain. Rain. There was so much rain, whirlpooling down a storm drain, sucking you in, dragging you down. You heard screams that weren’t yours. Flaming walls crashing down. A bolt of lightning struck a ship. It cracked in half and sank into the ocean. The name on the side was ‘S.S. Georgie.’

The whispers were loud from beginning to end, their volume never waxing or waning, just shifting around and within each other like a scrambler ride at a carnival. The night smelled like a dirty bathroom, but the rain tasted sweet like syrup and tangy like meat that was still too cold and pink to eat. Mirrors. Blood. Shattered glass. The screams weren’t yours, until they were. The screams weren’t yours until you were on the ground, on your stomach, trying to crawl away, but the monster had you pinned, and there was blood. You sobbed, and the monster laughed cruelly.

You saw blue. Blue became yellow. Yellow became red. Everything was red. You became red. You floated in the red. Then, you fell.

You were falling down a well, screaming, but the screams flowing out of your throat weren’t yours. You clawed at the rocky sides of the well, tearing your fingernails away and peeling the skin off your palms. You felt no pain. Your blood floated up instead of falling down. You fell for years, until the cold, airy feeling in your stomach became comfortable and your screaming tapered off. Blood floated from your raw throat through your lips.

Then, you fell faster, as if something grabbed and pulled you the rest of the way down.

Your back hit something soft, and in an instant, like changing slides on a projector, the endless stretch of the well above you became the stark white ceiling in your bedroom. Soft, morning light filtered in through the window. Birds chirped softly. The storm had gone.


End file.
